Sister, Singer, Archer, Spy!
by HanRic82
Summary: "In order to understand you, one first has to be prepared to peel away all the layers." - Leliana is many things to many people, but underneath it all does she really even know herself?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters, they remain the property of Bioware, and I am not in any way profiting from their use. I'm simply taking them out of the box and playing with them for a while. I will return them unharmed.

*Authors note – Hi everyone! This is the first fanfiction I've written and published in nearly 10 years, and though I've never written Dragon Age before I thought it was about time I got back to my routes. The story is rated M for later chapters and as I haven't quite figured out how to use the pairings button yet, this story is Leliana/Mahariel, but it also pairs Leliana with F Hawke, Cassandra. P, Josephine.M and Tallis, along the way. Also, this story is un-betaed, so please forgive any minor mistakes. Let me know what you think!

Prologue

"In order to understand you, one first has to be prepared to peel away all the layers."

The Hero of Ferelden said that to me the first time we made love and at the time, I did not pay much heed to her post-coital words. My love was undoubtedly beautiful, but like most things in my youthful, naïve years, her people were a mystery to me. One that I did not have the worldly knowledge or experience to look at any deeper. Lost in my own bliss – as most new lovers are – I foolishly assumed that she spoke an ancient Dalish wisdom that I had yet to comprehend. I ignored her, choosing instead to lose myself in her physical presence.

Now however, as I look out across Skyhold on the eve of our final battle, I think I finally understand what she meant all those years ago. I have had a long, arduous life and I have fought many wars; flitting from town to town, country to country on a series of never ending quests. I have killed as many people as I have saved, and I have worn many masks. Such is my mystery, that even my comrades – my friends – do not know who I truly am.

That is the rules of 'the game' you see, and that is why I am such an accomplished player. Do not let your guard down. Do not reveal more than you want them to see. Live in the shadows and earn your power through charm and seduction but never, ever, show them your hand. Lay sister, court bard, archer assassin and spymaster; I am all of these things and yet, I am none. The layers of trickery and deception keep me safe from harm but they are nothing more than elaborate costumes. Underneath them all, I – Leliana - am always present, and I have revealed myself too many…they just never chose to see.


	2. Chapter 2

Ode to a Nightingale

I came to Lothering to find peace. To amend for the mistakes that I made, the pain that I caused and for a while, I found it. The people here were forgiving, they were kind, and they gave me a sense of purpose when there was none to be found. But Lothering is not the village it once was, times have drastically changed it. Now, the once happy, peaceful farmers live in fear of what is to come. Instead of carrying reapers, they arm themselves with blades. Instead of sowing fields, they walk out into the wilds to hunt Darkspawn. The Chantry used to offer them haven, a place to seek guidance when they found only doubt, but as the Blight draws ever nearer and the maker stays silent throughout, they turn from us, their worship hardening to hatred.

The Revered Mother encourages us to continue doing all we can. We offer comfort to those who seek it, hope to those who need it, and strength to those who lack it, but it does not bring me the same contentment that it once did. I sometimes wonder if this is a test of my own faith. Maybe this is my message from The Maker – my guidance - but that is a selfish notion to ponder during such troubled times, and there are far more in Lothering less fortunate than I.

Having finished my day's reading, I place The Chant of Light back on the shelf and make my way over to the alter. In such dark times, I find it necessary to set aside some time each day in which I can seek my own solace from a world gone mad. As I bow to cross my chest with the sign of The Maker, I notice Bethany on her knees in the first pew, muttering words of prayer under her breath. It is the second time I have seen her in such a pose today, and though many here have much to pray for, few pursue it with such desperation.

I pause, to study her face. Her eyes are closed but her brow is furrowed, her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles have turned white; she is deeply troubled. I make the decision to speak with her, and as I move that way, I feel my toe catch something hard on the ground. Glancing down, I see her beautifully carved staff at her feet, instantly reminding me of the power she possesses. Is her magic the reason she has ventured here today? Is she scared of losing control?

Respecting her conversation with The Maker too much to interrupt, I slip quietly into the pew beside her to begin my evening prayers. It does not take her long to acknowledge my presence.

"Sister Leliana?" Her voice is soft but no less startled; my arrival was clearly not as subtle as I had intended. I open my eyes, glancing to where she continues to kneel at my right.

"Bethany," I smile warmly. "I had not expected to see you back here today."

"I'm sorry I…" Her voice trails off and she looks away nervously, pulling herself up from the floor to sit on the pew beside me.

"There is no need to apologise," I reply gently, keeping my voice low out of respect for Andraste. "If you cannot come to the Chantry in times of trouble then there is very little point in it being here, no?" She relaxes slightly at my encouragement but her expression is still strained. "I only wish to know what burden has you asking for help so persistently."

She looks at me then and I can see her internal struggle weighing down on her slender shoulders. She wants to talk to me, to ask my advice, but her fear holds her back. When her body tenses and she looks to flee, I carefully reach out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. "Is it your magic?" I ask tentatively. "Is the Blight calling to you? Are you scared that you will lose your way?"

She shakes her head, still refusing to make eye contact and I tighten my grip on her arm reassuringly. "It's my sister," She replies. Her voice barely above a whisper as if weary of prying ears.

"Your older sister?" She nods, reluctant to say more. "What has she done that has you so worried for her?"

"Nothing," Her hands rub together awkwardly, "She's just…changed."

Her words offer little information, so I search my memory for any knowledge on her family. I remember hearing a few stories about Marian. One farmer caught her half naked with his daughter in the loft of his Druffalo shed. He asked me to drive her out of the village for her sins. It took me an hour to convince him that despite her sexual preferences, she was still a child of The Maker. "How so?" I ask, slightly confused.

"I can't say."

I frown, detecting her hesitancy, "Cannot, or will not?"

Finally, she looks at me, her eyes searching mine for answers to questions that have not been asked. Her desire to reveal all is so strong that it oozes from every pore on her body yet through it all; she remains loyal to her sibling. "Will not," She replies, steadfast.

"Your determination to protect your sister is admirable," I smile sadly, "but if she truly requires guidance, then your continued silence will not help her."

She opens her mouth to reply but the sound of the chantry door slowly creaking open behind us, stops her. She tenses instantly, glancing quickly over her shoulder, "I have to go!"

The sound is only indication of another lost soul entering to seek solace and were it not for her sudden exclamation, I would not have turned to look. When I do look however, it is to see a stern, impatient, young woman, with twin daggers strapped to her back, pacing up and down the vestibule. I glance back just in time to see Bethany reaching hastily for her staff, and place my hand atop hers to halt her.

"Wait a minute," I plead, lowering my voice despite knowing that it will not carry to the other side of the chantry. "Your sister?" She nods once. "Then I am staring to understand why you seek guidance. She is extremely grumpy, no?"

I mean my words humorously but she does not take them so, "Don't speak of things you don't know," She instructs defensively, her voice rising in sudden anger. "Marian fought at Ostagar…"

"Oh!" My stomach drops and I instantly regret my tasteless joke. Ostagar is where King Cailan fell. If she survived that battle then she was one of the lucky few that did. I cannot imagine the horrors she must have witnessed there. "And she has not been the same since she returned?"

She shakes her head again, her hands clasping around the weapon at her feet, "I have to go."

I tug the sleeve of her shirt and she glares at me questioningly, "Stay here a while longer," I suggest, my voice soft. "Pretend you have not yet finished your prayers. I will talk to her."

"Please, no…" She begs, panic flashing through her light brown eyes.

I smile, "What harm can it do?"

"You don't know my sister…"

I stand, patting her shoulder as I squeeze past her and exit the pew, "Then it is time that I did."

Refusing to allow her further chance to protest, I walk slowly up the aisle towards the entrance, taking my time to study the woman in question. She is still pacing, but the longer I continue to watch her, the more I realise that it is not impatience causing her to do so. She is restless; agitated almost, as though waiting for an attack at every turn, but despite her steely expression and guarded posture, I notice immediately that she is quite beautiful. Average height with a muscular battle-hardened frame, messy, shoulder length, jet-black hair, and the darkest eyes I have ever seen. The image is striking, reminiscent of the first time I saw Marjolaine, and the unwelcome memory causes my step to falter as a wave of nausea overtakes me. But that is an unfair reaction, this woman is not her, and I cannot treat her with the same disdain.

"You are Marian Hawke, yes?" I ask, as much to ease my raging emotions as to break the ice between us.

She stops pacing, spinning on her heel to fix me with a challenging glare, "What's it to you?"

Her abruptness does not deter me and I take a few small steps forward, the whole process similar to that of approaching a terrified Nug – in this instance, subtlety is key. "It is nothing to me." I reply gently, "I was simply making an enquiry." I glance over my shoulder to where her sister continues to pray – or should I say 'pretends' to pray for I know she is listening to everything I say. "Bethany speaks of you often; she is in awe of you I think."

Marian snorts derisively, scuffing her heavy leather boot on the floor, "Then she's a fool."

"The only foolish people are the ones who refuse to see." I counter, offering advice where I am sure it will not be welcome.

Her jaw sets tight and she pulls her shoulders back, making a stand against me, "I'm not interested in your words Sister," She growls, "So save your preaches for someone who cares."

Her harsh words shock me. Bethany was right; she truly is a woman who has lost her way. "You do not believe in The Maker?" I ask, cautiously keeping my tone non-judgemental.

"I don't believe in the Chantry," She replies simply, and it is a sentiment that I have heard many times in the last few weeks.

"Such cynicism in one so young," I state, watching her hard expression for any sign of emotion, "It cannot be a healthy way to live?"

She looks me up and down, "You're barely older than me, what would you know about cynicism?"

I think again of Marjolaine, of the fading scar on my abdomen, of my reasons for turning to The Maker when my faith in humanity was lost. "Age is not measured in years my friend," I reply with a wisdom that only comes with experience. "It is measured by the mistakes we make and the lessons we learn."

She sighs heavily, quickly losing patience with our whole conversation, "Do you ever speak normally?" She challenges angrily, "Or is part of your calling to confuse people by talking in proverbs?"

I laugh, in many ways I understand her frustration but in order to understand ourselves, we first need to listen. "You are funny. I like that," I smile, refusing to let her frostiness sway me. "But you are also wounded, yes?"

Her whole body tenses and for a brief second, I catch a glimpse of the pain in her eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I pause, weighing up the consequences of crossing the invisible line between us, "Bethany told me that you fought at Ostagar," I confess carefully. "That you survived the massacre."

"Yeah?" She tries to sound blasé but her voice is wavering, "Well Bethany has a big mouth!"

"She is worried about you…"

"She doesn't need to be!" The reply is short, aggressive; a mental wound that has clearly festered.

"Guilt is not a failing…" I reply, ignoring her misplaced anger to address her more obvious issues. "And fear is not a weakness. The Blight is far from over, and with your father gone you feel it is your duty to protect your family." I watch her expression slowly crumple under the strain of her burden, "But you feel you have already failed them, no?"

Her dark eyes glisten with unshed tears, her body shaking slightly, but just when I think she is about to open up to me, something inside her snaps. Her face darkens instantly, and she scowls, "I am not going to talk about this with a Lay Sister who knows no more of the real world than I do of Andraste…"

"Just because I wear these robes, do not assume I know nothing of the real world." I reply, ending her scathing attack before it ever really begins. "I too have been hurt; I have been betrayed, I have felt alone and I have been scared. I am not as innocent as you would believe."

She scoffs, thrusting her hands onto her hips and acting for all of Thedas as though nothing can touch her but I know that it is all just a lie. I see past her act, I can see under her mask. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She mocks.

"No." I reply with a shake of my head, "It is supposed to tell you that you are not alone." She frowns, her bravado giving way to something deeper and I press forward, "I do not know what happened at Ostagar, but I see the haunting of it in your eyes. If you ever want to talk about it, I am always here."

She is speechless, her mouth moving wordlessly as she tries to process my unexpected kindness. The tears in her eyes are still there, the pain, the loss; all visible just under the surface, but something holds her back. Something is stopping her from letting go. In a flash, she flicks an internal switch and her emotions disappear, replaced once again with her blank expression. "Bethany, let's go." She calls to the mage, staring straight through me and to her sister.

This time I let them leave, moving aside to let Bethany pass as they both head for the chantry door. Watching, waiting, and yes indeed, Marian does look back.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sister Leliana!"

The voice rises above the din of the Tavern and I pause in my step, turning to search the darkest corner of the room. I find Marian Hawke staring back at me from a small table, her image barely visible in the dying flicker of a single candle.

"You took the time to discover my name I see?" I call out, making no move to join her. After two hours of listening to a refugee blaspheme The Maker, I am in no hurry for further company.

"Bethany told me." She replies, leaning forward in her chair. There is a clear sense of purpose in her eyes and I quickly realise that she did not speak to me in simple greeting. "She also told me that you might know some information about her." Her voice drops to a whisper as her eyes dart around the room, "Something that certain chantry followers could use against her?"

"Ah yes," I reply, remembering the sight of Bethany's wooden staff on the chantry floor. "I confess that I have discovered her secret, but the evidence I saw today only confirmed a suspicion that I have harboured for a long time"

"Damn it!" She curses, her fist thumping the table top as worry etches onto her face. "I told her not to carry _that_ in the village, I told her to be careful, especially now…"

I detect the concern in her words and frown, walking the few final steps to her position. "I take it from your reaction that she is an apostate?" I ask, keeping my voice low to avoid anyone overhearing an extremely private conversation.

Her eyes flick up to meet mine and I can see a fierce protectiveness in them. If I did not know the Hawke family better, I would fear her reaction. "If you're asking if she's free of the circle then yes she is. If you're asking if she's a danger to the public, then no, she isn't."

"I…"

Before I can get a word out she is on her feet and squaring up to me threateningly, "Sister of the chantry or not, I swear that if you report her to the Templars I will hunt you down…"

I raise my hands defensively but refuse to back away, "I would not do that."

"Cut the bullshit, I know that it's your duty to do so."

"It is," I agree curtly, "and if I followed my duty to the letter then I would have reported her a long time ago. The knowledge is safe with me."

Thankfully, my word appears enough and she backs down, her shoulders slumping as she sits back in her chair, "I'm sorry," She apologises, cradling her head in her hands. "I know you've been good to her. I'm just finding it hard to trust anyone at the moment."

All too aware of just how quickly trust can be lost, I feel myself sympathising with her situation, "I understand, but I promise that you can trust me." I turn to leave but something – maybe The Maker himself – pleads with me to stay and talk to her. Before I can think better of it, I place my tankard on the table and sit down opposite her. "So tell me, why is a pretty young thing like you drinking alone in this stinking tavern?"

"'Pretty young thing'?" She snorts, running her fingers through her hair and lifting her head to look at me. "I'm surprised you don't consider me grumpy and anti-social." She pauses to glance around the bawdy establishment, "I could ask you the same thing you know. I highly doubt the chantry encourages such a pastime."

I smile, my mood lifting slightly, "Take a look around, this place is filled with my fellow chantry Sisters."

"Yes but none of them are drinking ale," She points out, grinning as she leans over to peer into my tankard. "You on the other hand, have only half a mug left."

I pick it up, swilling the contents around to assess it for myself, "You are a pessimist," I reply, concluding that there is just over half of the drink left, "and if you had paid attention to our conversation yesterday, you would have learned that I am not as innocent as people assume."

She relaxes into her seat, a lazy smile stretching across her rounded features as we fall into a semi-comfortable silence. I take the rare opportunity to look at her. There is a healing cut across her left cheekbone and one that slices into her right eyebrow, a fading bruise circles her right eye, she has certainly seen the strain of battle. She notices my focus and quickly looks away as if to hide her wounds. "I never used to be like this;" she begins softly, "drinking alone in Taverns. I used to have friends. I used to flirt with every girl I could find…"

Her voice breaks and I can see her struggling to continue. I offer a light-hearted laugh in return, "Well, we are all guilty of that from time to time!"

She glances at me, her eyes wide in surprise, "You flirt with girls?"

"Not always. I sometimes flirt with boys instead."

She laughs incredulously but the humour does not reach her eyes, "Since I came back…" Her expression falls, a small shrug, "Well I…I just prefer to drink alone now."

I frown. The loneliness radiates off her in waves, the regret a crushing weight that is slowly squeezing the life out of her. When her eyes rise to meet mine again, it is like looking into a mirror. "The mind is a complex thing, no? When we most need its advice it remains silent and when we want nothing more than to quiet its voice, it speaks louder than ever. Torment is a heavy burden. I find that it is often lighter once it has been shared."

"You're saying that I should talk about what happened at Ostagar?" I can hear the reluctance – the fear - in the tone of her voice, and having no desire to push her, I pull back.

"No," I shake my head. "That is not for me to decide. Only you can know when you are ready to talk."

"So what exactly are you saying?"

I smile, attempting to take her thoughts from their dark path. "I am saying that I do consider you grumpy and anti-social, but I do not believe that it has anything to do with your past trauma."

This time she genuinely laughs, "And now you mock me!"

"Never!" I feign shock, and silence once again descends between us. I want to find a way to reach her. I want to save her if I can, but two short conversations have convinced me that a direct approach is not the way to do it. Instead, I try a different tact, "Did you know that the Seekers of Truth must undergo a rigorous vigil before they can join the order?"

She scoffs, taking a mouthful of beer and looking at me in disbelief, "I don't know anything about the Seekers of Truth," she replies deadpan, "and frankly, I don't want to."

"It is really quite fascinating," I continue regardless. "They spend a year in solitude; free from distraction and emotion. Those who successfully complete the ritual are enlightened by the experience; their minds open to endless possibility. Those who fail are left broken by it."

Her eyes narrow as she studies me over the rim of her tankard, "Why do I get the feeling that there's a point to this impromptu lesson?"

"Because there is," I reply simply. "Be careful, Marian. Sometimes solitude is a blessing, but spend too much time in its presence and it will become your undoing."

She huffs before downing the rest of her drink, "You can't undo someone that's already undone."

I feel my heart ache for her, for the person she used to be, for the distance she has fallen, but I will not allow her to give up as I did. "You are far from undone my friend. I should know."

"And how would you know, Sister?" She emphasises my title in a way that suggests she doubts my life experience, and though I understand that doubt, I refuse to let it pass.

"You judge me too quickly I think," I pause to take a sip of my now warm ale. "I am not just a Sister; I am a storyteller. There is a tale of a young woman who came to the chantry one night. She was lost, seeking atonement. The Revered Mother took her in and nursed her wounds, but she was broken beyond help. She was so sure of her character yet so uncertain on her path, her soul, brimming with a kindness that had been corrupt by a lifetime of betrayal and lies. Above all else, she wanted to love and be loved, but she had hardened her heart to the world."

"What happened to her?"

"I do not know." I reply, shaking free of the unpleasant memory. "Her story is not yet finished you see."

There is a long pause as she studies every line on my face as though seeing me for the first time. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle, "That's not just _a _story is it? That's _your _story."

I take a deep breath, shrinking back from the truth. I have not come here to seek forgiveness for my sins; I am here to help her. When my voice is steady and my mask firmly set in place, I reply, "I think you have speculated enough on my past for one night. Just…think about all that I have said, yes?"

She nods and I stand, intending to leave, but before I can go, she offers a final acknowledgement, "That was a clever feint, Sister."

I smirk, feeling something of my old self, stirring within. "I am a very clever woman, Ser Hawke." A knowing look passes between us – the start of something new for us both – and with a small smile, I finish my drink. "Goodnight Marian. May Andraste watch over you in The Fade."

She smiles back warmly, "Goodnight Leliana."


	4. Chapter 4

The day is warm with the summer sun beating down on the Hinterlands. It is so beautiful out here, so peaceful, that it is easy to forget the Blight that threatens just beyond the rolling hills. If it were not for my current task – collecting medicinal plants for the wounded soldiers back at the chantry – I would almost start to believe that we are not at war.

At first the Revered Mother had been reluctant to let me walk here alone, but once armed with my long bow, it had been relatively easy to convince her that I was the only one capable of such a daring task. My powers of persuasion are one of the few attributes that I am grateful to Marjolaine for teaching me, for had I not learnt them, I would not be out in the middle of nature experiencing my first true silence in weeks. Unfortunately, the welcome quiet does not last for long.

"Focus Bethany, you have to learn to use your emotions to your advantage."

The familiar voice is carried on the light breeze from just above me, and though I know that I should ignore it and continue on my way, for some strange reason, I find myself inexplicably drawn to it.

"What advantage?" A teasing, male voice replies, "Her magic is so weak that she couldn't crush a Nug!"

"I'm sure I could direct my attention to something smaller." A third voice cuts in sharply, "Your manhood perhaps?"

I follow the voices along a narrow path and up a small hill. At the top, the trail opens out onto a large clearing. Training dummies are scattered in strategic positions at one end while Marian, Bethany and Carver Hawke, stand with their backs to me a few feet away.

"Carver, that's enough," Marian scolds in that way that only an older sister can. "Don't you think you've angered her enough already?"

"That's my job." He protests weakly, "I'm here to provide a distraction…"

"And you've done it perfectly, now give it a rest." Turning her attention back to her sister, she places a patient hand on Bethany's shoulder. "Try again Bethany."

The younger woman raises her staff but the resulting shot goes awry, missing the intended target and hitting the one behind instead.

Carver laughs, "Oh the Darkspawn are going to shit themselves if you shoot like that at them!" He teases.

"Carver!" Marian admonishes, but I fear that the reprimand has come too late. Bethany's shoulders have already dropped, her stance deflating in defeat.

Despite the nagging voice telling me to turn around and walk away, I find myself stepping forward, "The mages in the circle make it look so easy but I can see from your trouble, that is not so." I state, trying to lift the younger woman's spirit.

Three pairs of eyes swing around to fix on me and I cannot help but notice Marian's small smile when she sees me. "Leliana!" She greets, pleasantly surprised. "We were just…" Her eyes flicker to her sister as she weighs up the risk of telling me the truth. "We're just trying to help Bethany," She explains. "She has a tendency to lose her focus when she's emotional and with the Blight so close…" Her voice trails off, a small frown marring her features, "What are you doing out here anyway? The Hinterlands aren't safe; the threat of Darkspawn is everywhere."

"I am more than aware of the danger." I reply, my hand subconsciously drifting to the concealed bow at my side, "Darkspawn are the reason I am here." At her confused look, I gesture to the cloth bag slung low over my shoulder, "Elfroot, to help the wounded at the chantry."

Her eyes drift back to my face and I can see the concern in them, it causes my stomach to knot in a way that it has not for some time, "You shouldn't be out here alone." She repeats.

I smile, "I am touched by your concern Marian, but I am fine."

"You won't…you won't…" Beside her, Bethany looks terrified and I suddenly realise that it is me she fears.

"I will not say what I have seen." I interrupt, finishing her inarticulate thought. "You are an extra staff against the Blight. Only a fool would wish to see you incarcerated at such a time."

Relief washes over her face but it is the warmth in Marian's expression that makes my promise worthwhile. "Thank you!"

Our eyes lock and try as I might, I cannot bring myself to look away. When she looks at me I feel naked – stripped bare – like I could tell her all the secrets of my past and she would promise to keep them safe. Carver's wolf whistle breaks the spell, and I quickly look away, trying to conceal my blush.

"Carver!" Marian warns, trying to hide her own embarrassment behind fake anger.

"What?" He chuckles innocently, "There are some serious vibes going on between the two of you. Maker sister, have you no sense of humour anymore? Ever since Ostegar you've been…"

"Carver!"

This time her anger is real and his expression quickly darkens, "I was there too remember," He argues, "And you don't see me so very changed!"

Pushing past her he storms off, disappearing down the same trail with which I arrived. Marian clears her throat and turns back to me, smiling sheepishly, "I'm sorry…"

"Your apology is not necessary." I reply, attempting to dispel the awkward atmosphere, "Everyone deals with the horrors of war differently." I turn to the younger of the women, "Now Bethany, you seem emotional enough, let me see your aim."

Nervously, she turns back to the painted targets, her body language immediately informing me of her problem. She has no confidence, no ability to switch off from the world around her. If her mind remains on the thoughts of her peers then she will never find her aim. I watch as she levels her staff, concentrating her focus on the magic running through her veins. Her brow furrows, and her eyes narrow in on her enemy. She fires…and misses the chest target area completely, hitting the dummies leg instead. It is then that I notice a single arrow just left to the centre of the target.

"Is the arrow also an example of your skills?" I ask encouragingly.

"No, that's mine." Marian corrects, "I was trying to show her how to keep her focus."

Something old, forgotten, and playful stirs within me and I grin, "And yet your shot has wavered from its path."

Bethany laughs, pleased that her sister is the object of criticism for once, "Her shot is better if she's not distracted." She replies supportively.

"Then let us hope that the Darkspawn stand still for her, yes?"

She erupts into laughter again and I smile as I watch her slowly relax. Here is the woman she needs to find if she is ever to master her talent.

"I specialise in blades, not archery…" Marian huffs defensively.

I raise a teasing eyebrow, "Then I suggest you concentrate on sharpening your daggers and leave the arrows to the experts."

She scoffs, "Like you could do better!"

"You are so certain that I could not?"

Bending down to retrieve her old, battered bow, she offers it to me, "Go on then."

I cannot ignore the challenge in her voice but instead of taking her weapon, I reach into my long heavy cloak and produce my own. Both their mouths drop at the sight of my custom made bow, the Silverite frame glinting in the sunlight. A sense of pride washes over me at their shock and using it to my advantage, I quickly fire my first shot. The arrow hits the centre of the target and I pull back, smiling triumphantly.

"You're definitely not innocent!" I hear Marian mutter under her breath, repeating the phrase I had uttered to her during our previous meetings.

"That's amazing!" Bethany cries, her squeal pulling my attention away from the older Hawke. "Your focus is unlike any I've seen before. You have to teach me how to do that."

"It is not so difficult." I reply with smug arrogance, having long forgotten the addictiveness of praise and now relishing in its giddy exuberance. "You simply have to clear your mind of all emotion and focus only on the target."

"Hang on a minute, what focus?" Marian interrupts indignantly, her own pride quickly outweighing her awe. "Where was your distraction?"

I smirk; unaware of just how much I missed my teasing, playful nature. "Test me again if you like." I reply confidently, "I must admit, I find humiliating you, enjoyable."

Taking another arrow from my leather quill, I nock it on my bow and slowly raise the weapon to eye level. I sight my target, focusing all my concentration on the exact point I desire my arrow to strike and slowly pull back the string. Behind me, to my left, I hear the sound of Bethany charging her staff but I block it out. I continue to draw back the bow until I feel the tension reach its peak and just as I am about to release the arrow, a bolt of magic knocks the target back a further ten yards. Refusing to be thrown by the distraction, I quickly recalculate my aim, and let go. The arrow lands next to my first.

"Wow!" Bethany laughs, amazed by the precision of my accuracy. Marian on the other hand is far less impressed.

"Don't 'wow' her!" She grumbles, "That was no distraction. It was exactly the sort of thing she was expecting." Her eyes flick to mine and she nods daringly, "Try it again."

Self assured, I take another arrow and begin the process again. I sight my target, focus all my concentration on hitting a spot just above the other two, and slowly pull back the string. The world around me fades to nothing until all I can see is the target in front of me, all I can hear is the beating of my own heart, and then…two strong hands grip onto my hips, pulling me back against a soft, warm, feminine body. Hot breath tickles my neck and Marian's voice whispers seductively into my ear.

"Slow and steady… just how I like it."

My heart rate increases exponentially, my focus drifting from the target in front of me to the warm body behind. It has been so long since anyone held me like this, so long since I felt the maddening rush of desire, so long since…since…

I accidentally release the arrow and my shot goes awry, pinging off into the surrounding trees but I find that I have lost the capacity to care! Lowering my stance, I turn to the woman still gripping my hips, my breath coming in short, flustered pants. She must see the longing in me as for as soon as I look at her, her triumphant grin disappears and her eyes darken with arousal. In that moment I want nothing more than to kiss her. I want feel her mouth against mine, I want to taste on my tongue. Long forgotten needs have stirred inside me and like a roaring fire they will not stop burning until they are quenched. I want her! I want Marian Hawke right here, right now, desperately!

"Will you spend some time with me, Sister? Teach me your mental technique?" Bethany's voice pulls me from the fog of lust, her admiration blinding her to the sexual tension between us.

"Yes of course," I stutter, pulling away from the woman at my back as I struggle to regain my self control. "We will organise some lessons soon."

I risk a glance back to Marian and instantly regret it. Her eyes burn with the same intensity as mine and it takes all my willpower to refrain from throwing myself at her. How did I let this happen? I'm not supposed to be that lusty, whorish criminal anymore. I am a woman of the chantry, a reformed character – I have to get a grip on my emotions.

Clearly sensing my internal struggle, Marian's gaze switches to her sister, "That'll do for today Bethany," She instructs calmly. "I'll tidy up here; you should go and find Carver. He could be half way to the Storm Coast by now."

Bethany nods, offering me an appreciative smile before she leaves but I cannot return the gesture. I am so ashamed of my actions that I cannot even look her in the eye as she exits the clearing. Marian turns back to me.

"You've got an impressive shot there Sister. Where does someone like you learn to fire a bow like that?"

Something in the accusatory tone of her voice catches my attention and I finally regain my composure for long enough to reply, "Someone like me?"

"Come on." She chuckles, "All that stuff you said in the tavern the other night; that tale about the girl at the chantry…who are you?"

I swallow against a suddenly dry throat, unsure if I even know how to answer that question anymore. "I am a friend." I reply simply, only confident to state the things that I am still certain of, "Surely that is all that matters."

"I don't usually make friends amongst chantry folk," She replies, her voice infuriatingly calm despite the heated moment we just shared, "and you're not like most people in the chantry. Your accent? It's Orlesian?"

I nod, trying to ignore the insistent throb of arousal still coursing through my body. "I was raised in Orlais."

"Yet you ended up in a Ferelden chantry?"

"Yes," I reply, finally hearing her doubt for what it is, "and my reasons for that are my own."

She laughs, "Oh you don't get to play that game with me. You know my family's biggest secret and I have no choice but to trust you with it. Surely it's only fair that in return, I know yours."

I straighten my shoulders, the dying embers of lust slowly turning to anger, "Why I am here is no secret, but it is also something I do not wish to share."

"Why not?" She demands, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "What have you done? Where have you been?"

"Where have you?" I shout, unsure how we descended from powerful desire into whatever _this_ is. "Why is Carver so full of life, so unaffected by Ostegar when you flinch at the mere mention of its name? You stand here judging me – someone who has only tried to help you – and all the while reveal nothing of yourself. Who are you to demand I bare my soul so willingly?"

She steps into my personal space, her voice rising with fierce protectiveness, "I am someone who has to protect her entire family!"

"And I am someone who has been forced to protect herself!" I reply, refusing to buckle under her unfair interrogation. "I will not bow to your will. I have done that too often in the past." Realising just how ridiculous this petty argument is, I take a step back, lowering my voice, "Let us speak no more of this, I have to get back to the chantry. Please tell Bethany that I will be in touch regarding her training."

Unsure whether I want to kiss her or fight her, I turn to walk away but she does not let me escape so easily.

"You can run from your past all you like Leliana," She reasons and I feel my entire body tense at the accuracy of her words. "But you can't hide from me. I felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins when you picked up your bow. I see the desire in your eyes when you look at me. You tell yourself that you're a Sister of the chantry, but are you really?" She shortens the distance between us and once again, I feel the heat of the fire flaring inside me. The suggestive tone of her voice is as seductive as the feel of a lovers fingers running down my spine, "Is that what your heart really wants?"

No one has asked me that since I entered the chantry and faced with such a direct question, I find myself filled with taunting doubt. Is it what I want? I used to love the thrill of the game, the danger of hunting another person – I used to crave for the pleasure a lover can give – but surely, I am not that person anymore. I am better than that.

Before I can find the words to reply, Marian surges forward capturing my lips in a passionate kiss and in that moment, I realise that for all I tell myself I have changed, I have not. I respond immediately, digging my fingers into her hair and pulling her body against mine. Our tongues duel wildly for dominance and I cannot suppress a moan at the overwhelming sensation. Maker help me but I have missed this. The verbal foreplay, the hidden looks – the raw need of it all – I have not felt this alive since Marjolaine and I…Marjolaine…

The painful memory of her betrayal, the feel of the knife as it slide into my flesh; it rushes back to me with abandon, cruelly reminding me of all the reasons I turned from that life in the first place. Self disgust quickly replaces burning arousal and I roughly push Marian away from me, bringing my right hand down, hard, across her cheek.

She reaches up to touch her stinging flesh, but simply laughs at my reaction, "I didn't think so!" She replies, taking my retaliation as the answer to her question.

She leaves me then, turning on her heel to walk across the large clearing and towards the training dummies. I watch her, stunned, until with a heavy heart and a confused mind, I begin to make my way back to the chantry.


	5. Chapter 5

*Author's note: thank you so much for all the feedback it really is appreciated. This chapter is rated M, please excuse any minor errors as I have spent so much time working on this chapter that the words are beginning to blur!

I walk the length of the clearing to the training dummy and smile at the large scorch marks surrounding the arrows in the centre of the target. It took six days, four lessons and a lot of patience but Bethany finally mastered her skill. I am pleased and proud that I was able to help her, with any luck her greater level of control will be enough to keep her from the circle.

I frown as I remove my arrows and return them to the quill at my side. The younger Hawke was in a strange mood this afternoon. She was quiet, unusually so; and there was an air of finality in the way she bid me goodbye. If it were not for our falling out I would be inclined to speak to Marian about it, but since the awkwardness of our exchange last week I have not seen her.

I regret the way that I reacted then, but her demanding questions and unexpected kiss stirred memories and emotions within that I had long ago tried to suppress. My whole reason for coming to the Chantry was to change – to start again – and for those few horrifying moments I thought I was allowing her to drag me back down to a life of betrayal and debauchery. In retrospect I think I overreacted, but then she had no right to corner me the way that she did.

I finish packing away my weapons and glance at the sky. The sun has descended further, bathing the clearing in a dark orange hue. Dusk is falling rapidly and though I appreciate the beauty of it, it is not safe for me to stay out here alone after dark. I grab my equipment, intending to begin my short walk back to the Chantry, but a voice from the path stops me dead in my tracks.

"I'm sorry!" It is Marian, and as I tentatively turn to face her I can see how nervous she is in approaching me.

"For what?" I ask, determined not to make her apology easy.

She shrugs, "For pressuring you. For demanding that you tell me about your past…" She glances to the ground, embarrassed, "For kissing you! It wasn't fair. You've helped Bethany so much and I…I had no right to treat you the way that I did."

Her sincerity seems genuine but I find that I cannot accept it lightly. What she did caused me to question everything I thought I knew about myself. Her actions have led to many sleepless nights that even now, produce no answers. "No you did not." I reply, my voice a little harder than perhaps, necessary. "So why has it taken a week for you to offer your apology?"

She takes a small step towards me but stops again when her courage fails her, "I wish I had a witty reply but the truth is I didn't know what to say." She pauses, sighing heavily, "Things have been so different for me since I returned from Ostegar and you were the first person that didn't question me about it. I felt that with you I could be myself again, but then I made the same demands of you that people make of me and I was scared I'd pushed you away."

"Do you really think that I am so easily offended?" My voice softens as I lay my heavy equipment on the grass at my feet. Part of me wants to stay angry with her, but how can I when she is as lost on her path as I am.

"Honestly? I think you're amazing!" Her voice is small but her words are powerful. They make my heart soar even as it breaks. "I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I surrender the fight, finally admitting defeat, "Marian you did not hurt me, the ghosts of my past are responsible for that. I would never turn my back on you."

She looks at me through long lashes, "Because of your duty to the Chantry?"

I laugh, "Because of my duty to you. Because of what I owe to myself! We are kindred spirits I think, but we are both too stubborn to admit it."

"So we can still be friends?"

"Yes…" I smile, trying not remember the feel of her soft lips against mine or the rush of heat that spread through my body at her touch. "…Friends."

She returns my timid smile and moves as though to depart my company but something stops her. A small frown creases her brow as though she is struggling with a great decision and then she turns back to me. "He was unconscious!"

My own confusion rises, "Who was?"

A brief pause, "Carver," She replies, clearing her throat, "You asked me why he's unaffected by what happened at Ostegar and that's the answer. He was knocked out during one of the first ranged attacks. He didn't hear the screams, see the blood…"

Her voice trails off and from the distant look in her eyes and the pain in her expression I can tell that she's back there, reliving the nightmare. "But you did?"

She nods, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I tried to get to them. I tried to save them all but I couldn't!"

I take a reassuring step towards her and can see her entire body shaking, "It was war; you would never be able to save everyone."

"I should have saved _them_."

"Marian, do you blame yourself for something that happened?" I ask, slowly drawing closer to the traumatised woman, "Is that the darkness that I see inside of you?"

She shakes her head, refusing to see reason, "It was my fault!"

"I am sure that is not true…"

"It is!" She shouts, unwilling to make eye contact, "They were there, trapped, and I could have saved them but I didn't"

"Marian look at me," I close the remaining distance between us and place my fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up. "Look at me." Finally she complies, her eyes wet with tears that she has held onto for too long. "Who did you fail to save? What happened? You can tell me, I will not judge you." My hand snakes around to gently brush across her cheek bone and my voice drops to a whispered promise, "I will never judge you."

A lone tear breaks away, beginning a slow path down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb, "It was after the last ranged wave." She begins, her voice choked. "Carver was unconscious, he'd taken a direct hit to the head and he was bleeding. The Trebuchet next to us had collapsed and there was soldiers trapped underneath, I don't know how many." Her expression crumples as her silent tears begin falling freely, "I could have saved them. I could have got them out, but I heard the call to charge and I panicked. The Darkspawn were coming and I only had time to save one person…"

"So you saved your brother?"

Her eyes meet mine and I can see the guilt reflected back in them, "Am I so very bad?"

"No!" I reply, bringing my other hand up to grip her face, "No, you did what everyone faced with the same impossible choice would do. This is not your fault. Their deaths are not on your conscience."

"But they are on my conscience." She cries, finally releasing months of pent up emotion. "Every day, every night I see them calling out to me and I just…I just walk away!"

"To save someone that you love, faced with the same choice they would have done the same!"

She shakes her head, "You can't know that. Andraste help me for I am a bad person."

I smile softly, "You do not need to seek the help of Andraste. You are a soldier that fought in a war you could not win. It is no more your fault then it is Loghain's for retreating. Then it is the Grey Warden's for failing to light the torches in time, then King Cailan himself, for starting the battle in first place. You are a good person Marian, this burden is not yours to bear."

"I should have done more."

When I realise that words alone are not enough, I make the difficult decision to share my own story. By learning who I truly am she may finally accept that the tragedy of Ostegar was not her fault. "You were right about me." I state, releasing my hold on her to take a step back. My frank statement catches her attention and she looks up. "I am not just a Lay Sister or a storyteller. I am an Orlesian Bard, and a criminal. I have framed nobles for crimes they did not commit. Seduced Templar's to manipulate the law; I have assassinated men for coin, and I did it all for a woman. One woman that I thought I loved, a woman who did not love me back. I am here to hide from a charge of treason, to seek atonement for my sins. So you see that it is me that is the bad person."

She looks shocked but not surprised, as though she always expected such a confession from me. "Did you do it?"

"Treason?" I shake my head, "No, even that is too great a crime for me. I was framed. Framed, stabbed and left for dead."

Something flickers in her dark brown eyes, is it pity? "By the woman you loved?" She asks, though I am sure she already knows the answer. I nod. "A bard is a highly trained spy right?"

"That is correct."

She shrugs, "Then it's a respected job. What have you really done that's so bad?"

I laugh incredulously, "You ask me that and yet blame yourself for the deaths of men that died in battle? These people died by my hand. I am solely responsible for taking their lives."

"It's still just a job, and I'm sure that they weren't so innocent." It is funny how quickly our roles have reversed. Now she is the one caressing my cheek, she is the one searching for answers in my haunted eyes. "Are you here to atone for your crimes or are you really just hiding from who you are? Are you ashamed that you allowed a lover to use you so easily?" She pauses, bending slightly to meet my gaze, "I've seen you with a bow, and you're good. I've heard you talking to the refugee's and you care. You're not a bad person either Leliana, at best, a little foolish."

I scoff and it feels like a lifetime has passed since I was last able to laugh at myself, "I must be if I am talking to you!" I retort teasingly.

"Do you know that you're the first person I've trusted enough to talk to about Ostegar?" She admits, her voice taking a more serious tone, "And thanks to you, I feel a little better for it."

I smile, "Good!"

"I take that to mean that I haven't had the same effect on you?"

"I do not know." I reply truthfully, my head is such a jumbled mix of thoughts and feelings that I can't see the answer. "I am lost, searching, but I would be lying if I said that I had not had second thoughts about life in the Chantry. You have made me realise that my skills maybe put to better use somewhere else. Maybe I will take up arms against The Blight...maybe I will even find a soldier to heal my broken heart."

"Maybe you've already found one…" Her voice is soft, a silent, seductive promise that makes me long for the days when I let my head be ruled by my emotions but I cannot surrender that easily. I cannot fall back on old mistakes.

I shake my head, "Marian I…" I know what I have to say but the words will not come. It is so hard to look into those enticing eyes and still find the strength to reject the offer of a simple caress. "You make me grateful that I never took vows but _this…" _I shake my head again, refusing to give into my desire, "…it cannot…it will not…" Words fail me, rendering me nothing more than a stuttering fool, she smiles.

"I'm not asking for forever, but you've done so much for me and my family, let me do this for you in return!"

Her lips slowly draw towards mine, the hand at my cheek slowly pulling me towards her, just a few more inches…a few more torturous seconds… The thought alone causes me to flinch and I pull back, determined to fight the rising need within. "Well now aren't you the perfect Lady!" I tease, praying that my light sarcasm will be enough to deter her from her goal.

Her smile widens into a predatory grin, "I admit that I have a vested interest in this too." She replies, her lips inching slowly forward with every word, "But you're beautiful…you make me remember myself…" Her voice drops to a husky whisper and I am lost to her, "Just say yes…"

"I…" Lust overtakes all rationale thought. I can almost feel her lips against mine…just a fraction more…"Yes!"

My fingers grasp the back of her neck and before I have time to rethink my actions, I am pulling her lips against mine. Red hot desire explodes through my body making every inch of skin tingle from the tips of my ears to the ends of my toes. I had forgotten how good this felt, how strong the euphoric rush could be. Suddenly desperate, I run my tongue along her full lips. When she opens her mouth to me, tangling her tongue with mine, I cannot prevent a fierce, unrestrained groan as the flood of arousal rushes to my core.

My knees buckle and I feel firm hands grip my hips to steady me, pulling me closer. She smiles into our kiss and I bite down on her bottom lip to punish her cockiness. At her delighted gasp, I suck on the injured lip to soothe it, releasing it with a wet pop before plunging my tongue back into her waiting mouth. This time she moans and it is a low guttural sound that fuels my desire and tugs at my loins. The hand gripping her armour slips down to grasp her breast but the leather barrier between us prevents me from touching her in the way my body craves.

"Take it off!" I instruct against her mouth. She complies immediately, somehow managing to remove her tunic without breaking our kiss. Reluctantly I pull back, but my regret does not last when I see the beauty that now stands before me. With her upper armour gone, Marian is left in nothing but her short skirt and skimpy breast band. The toned muscles of her abdomen ripple with anticipation, her tan skin exposed and ready for my touch. My mouth waters at the raw femininity on display, my hands – for want of a better activity - subconsciously clench into fists at my sides. "You are the beautiful one." I gasp.

She smiles timidly and I reach out to run the tips of my fingers across her shoulder. I swallow thickly, the softness of her flesh – the heat – how could I so easily abandon such simple human pleasures? I follow the line of her collar bone from the end of her shoulder to the top of her sternum and stop, my eyes flicking up to lock with hers. Her pupils dilate, the irises turning almost black with arousal, and in that moment I fail to remember a single reason why I ever wanted to refrain from this.

A wicked smirk forms on my lips and like a phoenix from the flames, I feel my old self roar back into life. With a suggestive wink, I slide my index finger down towards her ample cleavage and slowly un-tuck the flimsy material. Her breathing slows as she tries to retain her last semblance of control. This is sweet torture for her, and I thrive on the power it gives me. Seduction is an innocent game that when played right can bring royalty to its knees, luckily for Marian, I am its master.

Gripping her breast band between my fingers I slowly begin to walk around her. The undergarment unravels with me and when I am stood at her back, I begin to trail wet kisses up her neck. She throws her head back, panting hotly, but when she turns her head to capture my lips I pull back teasingly and continue on my way. As I pass by her side, I run my free hand across the skin of her hip, dipping down to hook my finger under the waistband of her leather skirt. Once facing her again, I twist the loose breast band around my hand and with a sharp tug there and at her skirt, crash my lips back to hers. Her kiss is desperate, hungry, and like so many of my past targets, I know that she is putty in my hands. I continue to stroke my tongue against hers until I feel her hand reach for me and then I roughly shove her back, maintaining contact through my tight grip on the loose undergarment.

"I am not done yet!" I warn, leaning forward to playfully nip at her lip.

"If you don't hurry up I think I'm going to explode!" She replies, her voice a breathy whisper that causes the throb of arousal inside me to increase tenfold. I bite back on a moan, refusing to acknowledge that my tiny grip on control is slowly slipping.

Without another word I begin to circle around her again, the last layer of cloth coming with me. When I am behind her, I tug the material free and watch as it slides away from her body. Her taut back muscles ripple and her flesh pimples under a small shiver, though I have no idea if it is arousal or exposure to the cooling air that causes it to do so. I step forward, pressing my body against the length of her back and reach around the front to take her breasts in my hands. She gasps at the contact, her back arching delightfully into me as I begin to knead the soft, supple flesh in my hands. When my fingers tweak her stiff nipples she groans, reaching back to grab at my thighs. "Maker…Leliana!"

She spins in my arms, crushing her lips against mine in a move that has me panting for air, and grinds our pelvises together. With a rush of maddening desire the game is over and I just want to feel her against me…inside me…as fast as humanly possible.

I break from the kiss, running my tongue down her neck to capture a perfect nipple in my mouth and her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me harder against her. Without warning, she flips me to the soft grass beneath. Now on top of me, I feel her frantically pulling up my Chantry robes, her fingers looping into the waistband of my undergarments and hastily dragging them down to my knees.

"My turn!" She grins, disappearing under my robe and thrusting her tongue between my thighs.

"Marian!" I cry out, shocked by the speed of her actions but desperate to feel that talented tongue working against my throbbing core, "Oh Andraste…that feels so…so good!" I grasp the grass beneath me and arch my hips into her mouth searching for blessed release but it does not come. Instead her tongue makes teasing patterns, up and down, from left to right but never anywhere long enough to sate my desire. I groan involuntarily, certain that I might die from the need of her, and clasp a hand to my eyes. "Please!"

She chuckles against me and then pulls away, sliding up my body until we're face to face before placing a chaste kiss against my mouth. I taste myself on my lips and try for a deeper kiss but she pulls back again, smiling devilishly. "I'll satisfy yours if you'll satisfy mine!" She replies suggestively.

Beyond the point of reason or conscious thought, I wrap my leg around her hip and flip us so that I am the one on top. Thankful for her short skirt, I trail my hand up her naked thigh and feeling more impatient than usual, push aside her smallclothes to thrust two fingers deep inside of her.

"Maker!" She cries, grinding down to meet my thrust, "Straight to the point, I like that!"

Even with my fingers buried deep inside her she still manages a witty remark. I smile, "Sorry," I reply, not feeling sorry at all. "I could not wait."

A thumb brushes against my clit and I cry out, laughing at the intense pleasure coursing through me. Two fingers penetrate me deeply, rubbing insistently against my front wall until my eyes roll back and my toes curl. "Yes…right there!" I plead, no longer caring who has the upper hand in this tryst.

We find a mutual rhythm that allows us to thrust in tandem and the arm she has wrapped around my waist tightens, forcing me to lie down in top of her. I bring our lips together but this time the kiss is sloppy; a combination of harsh pants and loud moans rather than any real contact.

After a particularly hard thrust, Marian gasps and then laughs into the mating of our mouths, "Oh you're good." She groans. I press the heel of my hand to her clit and she bucks wildly, "Shit, you're amazing!"

Cognizant thought is lost to me after that, a blinding flash of pleasure rushes through me heightening the pressure between my legs until at last; it explodes into a thousand tiny pieces. I feel her muscles contract around my fingers at the same time and know that she has reached the same heart stopping crescendo.

Reality slowly seeps back in and exhausted, I collapse on top of her a panting, sweaty mess. Beneath me I can feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, her breasts rising and falling as she comes down from her high. Utterly spent, I finally look at her, and we both collapse in a fit of euphoric giggles.


	6. Chapter 6

*Authors Note: Sorry it took so long! Hope you enjoy!*

"When did it get dark?"

I roll off Marian's soft, warm body and onto my back, looking up at the star filled sky, "Sometime between our heart to heart talk and you ravishing me on the grass?"

She smiles lazily, her eyes flaring to life at the mention of our recent activity. "I think you'll find that you ravished me!" She replies playfully, "Whatever will the Revered Mother say?"

I laugh, and it is the first carefree sound I have made in months. Whatever Marian did to me – excluding the obvious of course – I feel as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. I am free to be myself again but without the shame and regret of the past. "She would probably congratulate me." At her shocked expression I continue, "The Chantry is not as pious as many believe. I have not taken vows and as such, am not required to remain chaste. I think she would be proud to hear that I am finally embracing the woman I am on the inside."

Marian grins conceitedly, "I think I was the one _embracing_ you on the inside!" I punch her lightly in the stomach and she laughs, turning her head to look at me. "You don't regret it do you?"

"Regret it? Oh no!" I roll onto my side and cup her cheek in my hand, "I needed this. I needed someone to remind to me of who I am." She smiles softly, squeezing my hand with her own and there is no mistaking the warmth in her eyes. Warmth that a few days ago I never thought I would see. She has changed too. We have changed each other.

"And I take it that's not a Chantry Sister?" She asks.

I release her cheek and lay back down, gazing up at the bright constellations above us, "I still wish to do the Maker's work." I reply honestly, "I am just no longer certain that a Chantry is the place to do it." I pause, thinking back over the events of the last week and the Blight that has yet to come. "I had a dream last night. I was trapped in a world of darkness and the only way I could escape was to jump off a cliff."

She glances sideways to me, "You think it was symbolic?"

I laugh nervously, "You will think me stupid but I believe it was a message from the Maker himself warning me of the darkness to come. I think he wants me to pick up my bow and fight."

She sits up, concern marring her beautiful face, "You're going to fight in the Blight?"

I do not know! I am still not sure of my path I just know that it no longer ends here. I shake my head, "Maybe. There is talk in Lothering of a Grey Warden. They say she is coming here. Maybe I will seek her out and ask to join her cause."

"Is that what you want?"

I sigh, "I do not know, but I do not believe that my time with you and the dream I had are coincidence. I have to do something."

She looks away, swallowing sharply, her expression twisted in indecision. "I'm leaving Lothering." The words are so quiet that I struggle to interpret them but once they are out, I cannot un-hear them.

"What!?" I sit up, unable to believe that she would do something so thoughtless to the people that need her most.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said and you're right, I've become too self-absorbed. With my father gone I have a duty to look after my family and I'm not doing that. The Darkspawn are coming and the Templar's are everywhere. Lothering is no longer safe for us. We have to leave."

I release a breath, relieved to learn that she is not abandoning her family. At least I now understand the reason for Bethany's distant mood. "When will you leave? Where are you going?"

She smiles sadly and when she looks at me I see something familiar in her expression, regret? "We're leaving at dawn. I don't know where we're going yet, I haven't decided."

I nod, even though I was aware that our relationship would never be more than tonight, I still feel a tug of pain deep in my chest. "So this is it?" I ask, already aware of the inevitable answer.

She nods, "I'm sorry that I came to you like this. I'm sorry that I asked you to give yourself to me when I knew I was leaving, I just…I wanted to know what it felt like to have you in my arms…even for just a few hours."

Her innocent words touch my heart in a way that none ever have and I reach out to take her cheek in my hand again. "Marian, you do not need to apologise. You never need to apologise to me. I was screaming when you met me. I was screaming and nobody heard me, but you did. _You did_. You have reminded me of who I am, and I am eternally grateful for that."

She breaks eye contact and blushes. Her vulnerability – her heart - is the purest thing I have ever seen. There is the woman I tried so hard to find. There is the lover under the battle weary soldier. When she finally looks back to me it is to rest her hand lightly against my neck, "You have made me who I am Leliana. Never forget that."

Gently, she tugs me towards her and I meet her lips halfway in a chaste kiss. It expresses our bittersweet relationship perfectly; there is nothing left to say. When we break apart I keep her close, resting my forehead against hers, "Our paths split asunder but our souls remain entwined." It is an old Dalish saying that I once heard, one that I never understood until now.

She smiles warmly, her voice a soft promise, "Always." Somewhere in the distance a wolf howls and it seems to signal the end of our time together. This moment, this night – which regardless of the passing of time will always be ours – is over. "I have to go."

I nod, "I know." She stands, straightening out her skirt and pulling on the top half of her armour. As she bends to pick up her daggers, I catch her trailing hand in one of my own and squeeze it tightly, "My Hawke. Spread your wings and soar. Build your nest, protect your family, and find your mate, wherever she may be."

She scoffs, but squeezes my fingers in earnest, "Mate? Tavern wench more like it." She stoops to kiss my fingers. "If I am your Hawke then you are my Nightingale. Your beautiful song set me free."

She kisses my hand a second time, her lips lingering longer than necessary and then she slowly backs away. I continue to hold onto her fingers for as long as possible until they eventually slip from my grasp, "Farewell my Hawke."

"Farewell Sister Nightingale…"

And with that, she is gone.

**_XXX_**

_My dearest Leliana,_

_I do not know if this will reach you. I pray that it does. News reaches us daily of the Inquisition. They say Haven was destroyed; that you have elected a Dalish elf as your Inquisitor. It is hard to believe just how high my people have risen! But that is not my reason for writing._

_I hope you are well. My health is good but my spirits are low. The calling grows stronger every day but it is secondary to my need for you. I miss you. The Hissing Wastes are cruel and unforgiving. The days are too hot and the nights…too cold. It is during the night that I miss you the most. I crave for your company and I cry at the memory of your touch. I often wonder where you are, what you're doing. I hope that you think of me too._

_Do you? Does your body long for mine as much as mine does for yours? Does your heart ache to be filled again? We have been so many years apart that I no longer know. Are you still mine?_

_I am still yours, as I always have and always will be, but sometimes I miss you more than I can bear. I miss the softness of your hair, the fire in your eyes. I miss the mischievous way you smile at me from across the room. I miss the sweet lilt of your accent. I know that we agreed to find comfort in the arms of others while we are apart and I have, but it is not enough anymore. They're not you._

_My promise to you, as I sit alone in camp during this long night, is to finish my duty and return to you. I promise that once we are together we will never be parted again; nothing in Thedas will ever pull me from your side. All I ask in return is a promise from you to wait for me._

_I love you,_

_Lyna_

The words are so real. _Her words_. Words that on paper say so much but in reality mean so little. Is she really questioning my love for her? Does she really doubt that I will wait? I would wait a lifetime for her. I would brave the Fade to return to her side.

I rub my thumb over the crisp paper, tracing the elegant lines of her penmanship. She touched this. She held this letter in her hand and she thought of me. It is the closest I have felt to her in years.

I miss her too, to the point of physical pain if I actually stop to think about it. I would tell her that. I would reply if I knew where to send my letter, but by the time I rest my quill she will be gone. I have no way to reach way. No chance to tell her that my heart is hers. Back in Lothering I used to pray to the Maker for the opportunity to atone for my sins but now I think that the fight of the good is not a blessed one. When will the world learn? When will the time come to lay down our weapons and surrender to our hearts?

Oh how I yearn for her. My Warden.

Strong but gentle arms slide around my waist, embracing me and I glance down to see the gauntlets of the Champion wrapped around my mid-section from behind. I close my eyes against the familiar, welcoming touch, "Marian." The name leaves my lips on a sentimental smile. A name I have not spoken in nearly ten years.

She presses her body against mine in a loose hold and rests her chin on my shoulder, "No one calls me that these days." She replies, her voice a warm reminder that even now, sends shivers down my spine. "Ever since I left Lothering I've been known as…"

"Hawke," I interrupt, having heard several accounts of her legendary heroics. I feel her nod against my shoulder and I smile, "I wonder who gave you that idea."

She chuckles, her warm breath brushing my cheek like the ghost of a kiss. "You can't talk. In Kirkwall you were known only as Sister Nightingale!"

My smile widens, "Yes well the Divine…"

"The Divine appointed you but we both know she didn't give you that name." Her arms tighten around me, fingers splaying across my abdomen as she spins me in her arms so that we are face to face. "Look at you," She states, her finger tracing the edge of my hood, "so secretive." Her eyes scan every line on my face before drifting lower, taking in my appearance. Finally those playful brown orbs pull back up to meet mine, "The years have been kind to you Leliana, you look…more breathtaking than ever."

I study her face surprised to find her so unchanged. She looks older but wiser, experience suits her. "And fame has certainly favoured you!" I reply.

She makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and shakes her head, "I didn't ask for fame. Fame found me." Her fingers latch onto my hood and she slowly pulls it down, revealing my face in full. "How have you been?"

"Good…" My voice trails off, the smile wavering. "Well as good as one can be during these uncertain times. I have served my duty. First as the Divine's left hand and now as spymaster to the Inquisition…" I feel the paper still clutched between my fingers. _Her letter._ "But it is sometimes hard being away from those I love." I shake my head again and try to pull away but she refuses to let me go, raising an eyebrow in silent question. "Forgive me; you caught me at a bad time. I was just reading a letter from my love, she is very far away and I have not seen her in many years. The distance is difficult at times like this. She is a Grey…"

"…Warden. Yes, I know." She grins, "Back in Lothering you said you were looking for a soldier but I never thought you'd capture the heart of the Hero of Fereldon!" At my surprised look she shrugs, "I read the tale."

I nod, "I hear you found your tavern wench?"

She laughs aloud, "She's more of a pirate wench but yes Is…"

"…abella." I finish the sentence for her, offering a shrug of my own. "I read your tale too."

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall." She rolls her eyes, "Who hasn't read it!"

I cannot argue with her there. Thanks to Varric most of Thedas now knows her life story, however exaggerated it may be. "I met Isabella once," I inform, trying to change the subject from a topic she is clearly uncomfortable with.

She grins salaciously, "Met isn't quite the way she describes it!"

My cheeks flush at the untimely memory of our threesome in a dirty brothel and I clear my throat, "Oh…I…"

"Leliana it's fine," She teases. "I just told her that I had you first. That shut her right up."

"She is beautiful."

"Yes, she is," She agrees lovingly, and it is obvious that she is smitten. "The trouble is she knows it…"

I take a step back to look at her – really look at her – and realise for the first time just how far she has come since the last time we met. "Are you happy?"

"With her?" She nods, "Yes. Are you?"

My grip on the letter tightens, my heart squeezing with it, "I will be when Lyna is safely in my arms."

She smiles and I know that she understands. From the little Mahanon has told me of her situation it is similar to mine. Isabella is often at sea and she is often called to her duty, it results in them spending little time together. Her hands cup my face and she stares deep into my eyes, "Maker, I've missed you." She breathes, before quickly backtracking. "I-I don't mean that inappropriately I just mean…"

I laugh and take one of her hands in mine, "I know. I missed you too."

"I think…" She breaks eye contact, blushing with embarrassment. "I think a little tiny piece of me will always be in love with you. You saved me. I never said that to you at the time but you did. You saved me Leliana."

Warmth spreads through my body. It has been many years since we last spoke but it is a relief to finally hear those words, "We saved each other." I reply, admitting aloud something I have only before accepted in private.

She pulls me to her in a fierce hug and presses her lips against mine in a chaste kiss. I hold on for dear life, with Lyna so far away she is the most real thing in my meagre existence. It is nice to feel cared for. We hold each other for several long silent, minutes; such a simple show of affection but something so desperately needed by both of us. When we finally let go, she presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I should go. Apparently there is a very angry Seeker on the war path…"

I laugh, releasing the leather of her armour from my tight grip. I did not even realise I had reached for her. "Cassandra," I clarify, "You need not worry, her bark is worse than her bite…"

She must detect something in the tone of my voice for her eyes narrow suspiciously, "You didn't…" She asks, her mouth widening in surprise at my knowing smirk, "…you did? And that Ambassador…" She presses, "She said something about smallclothes and a Chantry board…" I erupt in a fit of giggles and she gasps, "And to think I once took you for a Chantry Sister!"

"I was a Lay Sister," I correct, having almost forgotten how good it felt to laugh, "and only until I met you. You took that part of me."

Her face becomes serious and she reaches for my hand again, pressing it against her chest until I can feel the beating of her heart, "And I will always keep it here," She promises. "Goodbye Leliana, may Andraste watch over you and bring you victory against Corypheus."

I smile sadly, aware that this time it really is goodbye. "Goodbye Marian, until we meet again in the Fade."

Our eyes lock but the moment is fleeting, broken abruptly by a stern Neverran accent hastily ascending the stairs. "Leliana, please tell me that you have not entertained the company of Hawke. It would be most displeasing for me to find that you too had gone behind my back. I expect such behaviour from Varric but not you…"

Marian grins, a mischievousness glinting in her expressive eyes, "Cassandra?"

I nod, "Cassandra."

"Hm…let's not meet in the Fade anytime soon eh?"

I laugh, "Quite!"

As Cassandra's footsteps draw nearer, my saviour releases my hand and darts out the side door onto the battlements. I watch as her shadowy figure runs past the window and turn to greet my disgruntled colleague.


	7. Chapter 7

*Authors Note: Once again guy's sorry for the delay in posts. I'm swamped in work at the minute but I promise I am working on this whenever I get the chance. Sorry for any mistakes in this chapter, it's been written and posted in less than a day so I haven't really proof read it. Feel free to kick my ass if it's really bad ;-)

The Road Not Taken

_My Dearest Leliana,_

_By now, word must have reached you regarding the loss of Amaranthine. I am unsure as to what the people of Thedas make of the events that led to its destruction, or how their opinions towards me have changed in the weeks since. In truth, I care little for the rumours of the court, my hand was forced and I had to make the decision I thought best. Saving innocent lives is a noble path, but we both know that craftsmen and traders make poor soldiers. I needed an army to fight the Mother, I had to save Vigils Keep._

_Please do not think that I write purely to ease the burden of guilt that has been plaguing me ever since. I write because I can't bear the thought that you would hear some of the more disturbing stories and begin to believe the lies. I never want you to think ill of me my love. I never want you to doubt the Warden you grew to trust during the Blight. If only you had been there at my side, if only I'd had your wise words and caring heart to guide me in my choice._

_But I digress, I do not send this letter to lament my regrets but to celebrate the strength, that even during my darkest times, your love gives to me. It has been too long since I last saw your beautiful face and I long for the day that I can sleep safe in your arms once more. But for now I am content simply to write, for when you read my innermost thoughts we share an intimacy that no amount of miles can divide._

_I have received word that my bard is back causing havoc in the Orlesian Court and though I admit that I was weary at first, I now find it amusing to imagine the mischief you must cause. How many men and women have your swaying hips and enticing smile seduced? How many secrets have you pried from kiss swollen lips? I'd like to think that, had I not already known you, I would not fall prey to your charms so easily, but I know that one lewd whisper in your native tongue would leave me at your mercy. You are an enigma Leliana, a beautiful, irresistible temptress, and I envy all that dare to play your game. _

_We are currently travelling through the Hinterlands, a course we believe the Architect took not long before. My hope is that we will catch up with him before wintersend and my work will be complete, freeing me to return to you once more. Alas, it is here that I must make my latest confession. There is a Scout in this region; she is young but extremely talented. She discovered your whereabouts within a day of me first mentioning your name and she has been more than happy to trade correspondence between us while I am in the area. She is cute, and kind, and she has a tendency to ramble when she's nervous. She reminds me of you. Her name is Harding. Lace Harding. And one night at camp she saw how deeply I missed you and willingly sat at my side for three hours as I talked endlessly of our time together. I have found comfort in her arms since, she is a competent lover – I promise to tell you all the details at our next meeting – but her touch will never be as satisfying as yours._

_Unfortunately, this is where my letter must end. The lark has risen and we must make several miles on foot today. I will write to you whenever I have the opportunity and in turn, I look forward to reading about all of your unsavoury conquests at court. But in the meantime, should anyone try to get too close to you, don't be afraid to remind them that your love is the Hero of Fereldan and that she is not above travelling half of Thedas in order to defend your honour._

_Take care, my dearest one._

_I miss you._

_I love you._

_Lyna_

"Leliana?" The voice startles me, a thick Antivan accent breaking the silence of the dark courtyard. I hastily conceal Lyna's letter in the rich folds of my Orlesian silk dress.

"Yes?" I reply, twisting my position on the marble bench so that I may greet my visitor. The woman is young, smaller than me with dark eyes and caramel coloured skin; a true beauty.

"It is…" She pauses, squinting at me through the fading light, her voice filled with awe, "really you?"

"That depends," I smile sweetly. "If you are an assassin working for the Countess Du Marche then it is not. If you are anyone else, I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

She falters in her step, frowning slightly as she stammers over her words, "Oh…er…no…I am not…"

I laugh, "How nervous you are…"

"I'm sorry." She straightens her shoulders and clears her throat, trying her best to look composed, "I am well versed in the game but not quite so adept at playing it."

I do not trust the sincerity of her words but as I have never seen her before, I assume that she is simply new at court. "You are a bard?" I ask, for despite her bumbling appearance there is an elegance to her manner that is familiar to me.

"Barely…" She scoffs, looking nervous again. "It is my first night at court in such a capacity and I confess, I would rather be out here…"

I glance around the vacant chateaux courtyard, my eyes dancing across the ornate fountain, the glowing torches; the freshly bloomed bed of Andraste's Grace. I pluck one of the flowers from its stem and breathe in my favourite scent, slowly returning my attention to my pretty companion. "There are no secrets out here!" I state, glancing up at her from under long lashes.

"I am sure that is not true." She replies, her voice growing in confidence and strength, "_You _must harbour many."

Something in her pointed words trigger alarm bells at the back of my mind. The court may seem like a frivolous place but there are assassins and spies everywhere. "And what do you know of me?" I demand, my voice lacking its usual warmth.

She is taken aback by my sudden hostility, "I…" Her eyes dart around in fear as her mouth moves silently. Does she really fear me so very much? "I know that you are the bard we all aspire too." Her explanation rushes out on one long breath, "I know that half of Orlais is in love with you…"

I smirk, proud of the influence that several years on, my presence still has here, "And the other half?"

She shakes her head, confusion etched across her high cheek bones. "I…I'm sorry…what?"

I stand, closing the last remaining distance between us. She smells of Vandal Aria, a sweet, honey scent that matches her exotic colouring. It fills my senses as I lean into her, "Never approach another bard without all of the facts." I state, my voice low as I impart some of my vast knowledge on The Game. "You sought me out for what? Advice? Support? What makes you think I would show kindness to you?"

"I…I…" She takes a step back, her eyes wide as she searches my expression for any hint of threat. I find that I do not have the heart to maintain my charade.

"Relax dear thing," I break into a grin, "I am only making a point. You say that half of the court is in love with me but you failed to discover that the other half wishes me dead. Rule number one; always know your enemies."

She releases a breath, her expression relaxing into a timid smile, "I didn't know that you were my enemy."

"I am not," I reply truthfully, "but you did not know that when you approached me, did you?"

She blushes and the colouring of her cheeks is endearing. She reminds me of Lyna when we first met; the shy, inexperienced elf untarnished by the threat of Darkspawn and war. My mind traces back to the letter hidden away in my dress and I turn from the young bard. I should have been with her at Amaranthine. She should not have faced that choice alone.

"Forgive my impertinence," A small, uncertain voice interrupts from behind, "But are you well?"

Collecting my composure, I silently remind myself that the Orlesian Court is not the place to question ones loyalty to her love. Spinning around I turn to greet my new friend, my face a stoic mask, "As well as one can be while attending a party that has about as much life as Schmooples after she has slept all day."

A finely shaped eyebrow rises in silent question, "Schmooples?"

I grin, "My pet Nug."

She wrinkles her nose in disgust and makes a noise at the back of her throat, "You actually own one of those strange, smelly, rodent type things?"

"I do."

At my simple reply she returns to her original point, "I'm sorry I just…when I approached you, you were reading, you looked…sad."

I was sad. Sad that I was too far away from my soulmate to offer her comfort in her hour need…but my companion cannot know that. "Ah," I reply, making light of the sorrowful situation, "It was a letter from my bank manager in Val Royeaux. I assure you everything is fine."

She does not seem convinced, "Your body language did not signify that."

"I beg your pardon?" I challenge, offended and a little concerned by her frankness.

"Your posture, the angle of your head, it was…wistful." I swallow heavily at the accuracy with which she caught my mood. "You miss someone."

Something compels me to trust this woman, to open up to her and reveal my true feelings, but I cannot. This is the court and I am a bard, my personal life is my own and must remain as such. I shake my head, silently rebuking her claim. "Rule number two; reveal nothing of your true self to anyone at court." My eyes narrow as I study her soft expression, I am certain that a little indulgence will not put me in danger, "How did you know that?"

She shrugs, looking almost embarrassed, "I have a gift for reading people. As a child I could talk myself into, or out of, any situation that I pleased."

"That is a handy trick for a bard." I admit, suitably impressed.

She smiles; a big, wide grin that suggest she receives little praise for her talents, "I hope so."

I detect hesitancy in her voice – reluctance - and that coupled with her earlier nervousness causes me to wonder whether or not she is here by choice. "Are you not happy with your job?"

"Oh yes," She replies but it's a quick, well practiced response. "I am honoured to have the opportunity I am just a little…"

"Scared?"

She nods frantically, vulnerability coming off her in waves. "I am not good with confrontation."

"A poor weakness indeed…" I agree, more than aware of what the other bards will do to her if they see her falter. I take a moment to quietly observe her – the expensive dress, the satin slippers – all things that would suggest a competent spy. But there is something in the way that she holds herself; her readable expression and restless hands that indicates raw inexperience. "Who are you working for?" I ask, suddenly concerned for her safety.

"Can I say?"

"If you wish…" I reply cautiously, "Though I would advise that you refrain from telling the whole court. Your pretty little head is much nicer on top of your pretty little neck is it not?"

She laughs fearfully, "Lady Pentaghast."

"Of the Nevarran Pentaghast's?"

"Yes."

I whistle in shocked surprise, stories of the Nevarran royal family are spread the length and breadth of Thedas. Once famous dragon hunters, they are now fat, lazy nobles with an insatiable hunger for power. Such is their ruthlessness that many say the Right Hand of the Divine abandoned her lineage in favour of seeking her own path. The bard in me is instantly curious as to their _business_ here at court, but determined to protect my companion from danger, I refrain from asking. "A high order indeed," I state simply.

She frowns, detecting the guardedness of my voice, "Do you think I was wrong to take up the job?"

"As I do not know its nature I cannot possibly answer that," I reply, careful to protect my own position. "Just please, tell me that you are armed?"

She gestures to the flowing velvet of her deep red dress, "I am not, but I am only seeking information so I did not think it necessary." I purse my lips and she inhales uncertainly, "Is that wrong?"

"Rule number three; always carry a means by which to defend yourself."

She points to my finely tailored outfit, "But you do not carry weapons."

I sigh, almost pitying her naivety, "My dear, this dress is not just a tool for seduction…" Reaching out I take her soft, delicate hand and press it to the top of my thigh. Our fingers brush against a long, hard object concealed by the cloth of my dress and she gasps. "It is also a cloak for my daggers," I inform, acutely aware of the rush of desire that her touch ignites. Her fingers flex against my leg and she flushes, recoiling from my grasp, "You blush." I smile, unable to resist teasing her shy nature. "You have intimately touched another woman before, yes?" She shakes her head, looking away to hide her shame and I gently grip her jaw, slowly bringing her gaze back to mine. "Then might I suggest that you try it before you seduce any of the women in court. They are very particular in their tastes; experience is the key to unlocking their desires."

The clock on the western tower chimes nine and I drop my hand, my mind instantly flicking back to matters of business. "I must leave," I announce, though I admit to feeling disappointed at having to part her company. "I have promised to dance with Duke Gaspard and if I do not, my target will not honour me with the dance after." I hold out the flower I picked and incline my head, "Good evening Lady…"

"Montilyet," She fires back, dipping in a small curtsey as she takes my gift. "Josephine Montilyet."

I smile my most seductive smile and offer a cheeky wink, "Good evening, Josie. No doubt we will meet again."


End file.
